


What If...

by Emo_MabelPines



Category: Red Queen Series - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: I hope to update!! I really do!, M/M, My official Thomaven backstory!, This took me way too long to make
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28973955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emo_MabelPines/pseuds/Emo_MabelPines
Summary: Maven Calore wants to be anywhere but the front. Having been sent to the barracks due to poor quality in his training and lack of skills compared to his perfect brother, Maven becomes a soldier against his will. But what happens when a Red medic stumbles into his life and refuses to leave? What happens when, suddenly, Maven’s making actual friends and finds he enjoys their company? For someone who’s only future was to watch his brother succeed on the throne his mother so desperately wants, various “what-if’s” open up new possibilities for the prince’s future.But how long will he attain these relationships and how long can he hold everything together without losing it all?
Relationships: Maven Calore/Thomas
Comments: 24
Kudos: 12





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, it’s been a WHILE. But, I have been slowly writing for my other stories and requests, I promise you I have. I posted this idea on my Tumblr and people really seemed to want this written so I got the first chapter done.   
> I’ve always wanted to write a Thomaven backstory (a full one I mean) and so I’m officially doing it. I’m going to try so incredibly hard to update and not just give up on it like I do for a lot of my other ideas (it’s just what I tend to do because I lose motivation), but I really hope y’all enjoy this and I hope I fulfill any wants any of you wanted :)
> 
> Criticism is important to me and always greatly appreciated. Leave a comment whether it’s good or bad, it just makes me happy people read my stuff lol

As usual, the whispers wake him from his sleep. They thread through the fallen soldiers and cracked ground in his dreams, wrenching the fire prince from the imaginative horror.  _ Weak,  _ they whisper,  _ nightmares are for children afraid to confront their fears. _

A bump in the road rattles the transport abruptly, causing Maven’s eyes to flutter open. There are no more battles, fires no longer rage along trenches bordering enemy lines, and Maven’s body isn’t paralyzed as it was previously. Without changing his facade, he stretches minimally, sitting up enough to alert the two guards sitting opposite him he’s awake. They don’t need to know how easily his foolish fears get to him. However, neither gives him any notion they care other than a slight flicker of their eyes his way. 

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Maven ganders out the window nearest him. Instead of the glamorous structures and Silver-owned businesses passing by, towering trees with a vibrant green rustle in the wind, creating an aesthetic he finds surprisingly pleasing.

“Where are we?” Maven asks without thinking of his posture or anything else his mother would scold him for. Being too enticed with the view, he barely glances over at the guards. 

The guard closest to him shifts, his armor making an unpleasant sound against the seat cushion. “Five miles outside the military campsite, your Highness.” His voice is gruff yet quiet for a man of his size; more muscular than the other guard and Maven combined yet just less than a foot over the prince.

_ The front. _ Of course. How could he possibly forget?

A week ago, the subject had been brought up at the dinner table. One week ago. Maven exhales sharply. How the time flies.

“You’re sending me to the barracks?” His voice was collected, though the slightest tremor rewarded him with a pointed look from Elara. Swallowing any morsels left in his mouth, Maven looked between his parents. “I feel it’s a bit,” he hesitated, “sudden.” 

Elara had scoffed. “Sudden? You’ve been lacking in areas during training for the past month according to Lord Arven, I was assuming you saw this coming.” Daintily cutting a slice of meat with her silverware, she kept her eyes on her plate but her voice was cutting through his head. 

_ But you didn’t. Always be prepared, darling. That way, no one can catch you off guard. You never know who could throw a wrench in your plans or poison your soup, you need to be able to plan for it. _

Cal, who’d been eating silently across from mother and son, spoke up. “Lord Arven judges on who he likes better, not upon skill as he should.”

“I’m assuming that’s why you have perfect marks.” He bit at his brother, narrowing his eyes. It was time for him to stop fighting Maven’s battles. Cal frowned, looking a bit startled it was Maven who said something and not Elara.

“Whatever the reason, I feel it’d be a good experience for the boy.” The king proclaimed, wine sloshing in his goblet. “Toughen him up. Like Cal here.” A drunken smile appeared on his face and he clapped Cal on the back causing him to nearly drop his fork. Maven clenched his own utensil, biting his tongue to keep from lashing out at his father. Another comparison to his perfect brother who achieved what he couldn’t hope to in his lifetime.  _ Patience,  _ was all his mother whispered. 

Taking a sip from his glass, Maven was grateful for the pause. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. “When am I leaving?” He remained calm, eyes shifting calmly between Elara and Tiberias, not even bothering to look at Cal in fear of meeting a softened bronze. He had accepted his fate, he didn’t need any sympathy.

Smiling proudly, Elara set down her knife. It was Maven’s imagination but the knife almost seemed to prod at him from where it laid, biting at him with it’s sharpened teeth and ripping at his flesh until there’s nothing left. Perhaps Maven would allow it to, even welcome it in fact.

“As soon as all of your things are packed.”

Thankfully, it’d taken him a week to finish up various tasks including training sessions and lessons before he could finish gathering necessary items for his trip. According to his mother, he’d be at the front for quite some time. Or at least until he can rid himself of weak habits that hold him back from being as good as Cal.

The view outside the window becomes less beautiful as the transport turns right into a clearing where a few tents are scattered about in front of rows of smaller tents leading farther than the eye can see. Bigger tents located in front must be important ones like the dining hall and the general’s quarters. Possibly his quarters as well. It’s not as nice as he expected it to be, though it’s not terrible. 

But the smell is. As soon as Maven is escorted out of his transport after it’s come to a stop, he tries to keep himself from gagging. Bile rises in his throat and he finds it difficult to keep a straight face as he walks towards a stout man waiting for him in front of the second largest tent in the clearing. His guards flank him and seem to think the same; their noses wrinkle at the same time Maven wishes he could.

“Prince Maven.” The short man says once he’s close enough. For such a vertically challenged man, he’s incredibly loud. “Welcome to your new home. I’m-”

“General Lerolan.” Maven interrupts. He smiles, showing his canines. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” General Lerolan gives away his surprise by an arch in his eyebrows. To the prince, it wasn’t much of a mystery considering the orange and red, Lerolan house colors, lining his uniform as well as the shining medals adorning his chest. The fact that he’s Silver is a dead giveaway.

Forcing a chuckle, General Lerolan stares into Maven’s eyes with a cold smile. “You’re new, I get it. But don’t ever forget this warning I’m gonna give you. Don’t ever interrupt me or I’ll send you out with the first group for battle at the front lines.” As he speaks, he gets louder, and Maven inwardly cringes. He supposes his ears will have to become attuned to the volume sooner or later. The threat isn’t well delivered, at least compared to others Maven’s heard, but the sincerity of it is certainly there.

Clenching his teeth, Maven’s smile falls slowly. “Understood. I will let my mother know at once I’m off to battle.” The indication is clear as day but General Lerolan merely laughs, shaking his head and crossing his arms. 

“Boy, your mother ordered this type of punishment along with many more chores for you to do if you step outta line. Whine to her all you’d like, Blue, you aren’t getting outta any of this.”

“Blue?” Maven questions, taken aback. His mother did what? Did she honestly think he’d be that much of a bother? Surprisingly though, the nickname startles him more.

The guard to Maven’s right bites back a chuckle, disguising it as a cough. The fire prince scowls. General Lerolan gives him an amused smile then turns on his heel and calls over his shoulder for Maven to follow him, adding his new nickname. Feeling humiliated, he sulks after the general.

* * *

  


An hour and a half later, Maven wants to tear his hair out which is horrific for him since he spends a lot of time caring for it. General Lerolan showed him around the camp, starting with both of the dining halls, which he called “mess halls”, and ending with the training grounds on the far end of the rows of tents. Each new place there was to show was followed with an introduction filled with loud barks from the general and snappy comebacks if Maven uttered a single word. 

Clearly, General Lerolan doesn’t care about the prince or his feelings. Just his skills and capability, which he apparently thinks Maven lacks.

Stopping outside the fenced area, General Lerolan turns dutifully towards Maven, sizing him up. “Oh yes, you’ll be visiting here often.” Maven’s about to retort something about his height when he starts to speak again. “These are the training grounds. First thing tomorrow morning, you’ll report here to get yourself into a group that works on your weaknesses to build them up. Fortunately for you, Blue, your momma requested your strengths be worked on as well as your weaknesses, so you’ll be part of our top class.”

“I’m assuming I have no say in this.” Maven says with a locked jaw. He’s met with a smug smile. 

“And as part of our top class, we have one rule you need to know before you start.” Leaning in a bit as if about to tell him a secret, he grasps his hands behind his back. “You drop before I tell you to, you’ll regret it, princeling. According to your mother, I have no limits with you so don’t hide behind her skirts any longer.” Straightening back up, he laughs and claps Maven on the shoulder. “I’ll have your guards show you to your room. It’s a long ways back so I suggest you hurry. Night’s a comin’.”

Maven is escorted away by his own guards, who look as though they adore the short man, without a second to think of a response. Usually he’s the one with the quick retorts, the smart mouth. Was he outdone by a foul general, a Lerolan of all houses? 

The walk back to his tent isn’t as brutal as General Lerolan claimed it would be and his tent’s nicer than the ones closer to the training grounds. Standing at the front of the row directly behind the general’s quarters, his tent looks magnificent compared to the ones behind it, standing at around three feet taller and ten feet bigger all around. Inside there’s not much, a bed with a pile of sheets folded at the end and a pillow, a desk in the corner, and a set of his own military clothes set neatly on a chair near his bed with giant boots that look extremely heavy standing next to the leg. It’s nothing in contrast to his room back home but it will have to do for now.

His guards leave him when ordered to, rather rudely due to Maven’s sour mood, and he finds he’s happy to be alone for once. Ignoring his new garments and bed sheets, he sits on the edge of the mattress carefully, as though sitting on it will ruin it. Scanning the bland room, he exhales slowly. 

The front is not the first place he would’ve chosen to leave his home for. In fact, it’s at the very bottom of that list. But he’ll have to accommodate if he wants to survive here and unfortunately, that means putting up with General Lerolan and his antics and possibly some unfriendly soldiers. His lungs suddenly feel like they’re being squeezed. Other soldiers. He’ll have to eat, train, and walk alongside other soldiers, Red and Silver alike, in order to be successful like Cal. 

With a sigh, Maven discards his shoes and lies back on the bed. There’s one thing for certain. He’s not going to like it here. But if he’s going to change anything, one thing that he will not tolerate, he already knows what it is. He can make friends if he truly tries, he can put up with a blown out eardrum due to all the yelling, he can even survive the rough training he’ll endure come morning.

But his nickname is  _ not _ going to be Blue.


	2. Friend?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maven’s first day at the barracks don’t go according to plan, but maybe it’s for the best when he meets a shy Red girl willing to help him when no one else will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote stuff again! Look at me, I’m on a roll!
> 
> This chapter includes one of my original characters! I hope you like her, she’s a minor character for right now but she plays a big part later :)

“ _ You call that a sprint? _ ” 

Maven doesn’t even have the energy to wince, he’s panting so hard. Never has his body been in such a state before, sore all over with sweat streaking down his forehead and dripping into his eyes. He feels disgusting, like a dirty Red sent to work in the sun all day. Lord Arven had been merciful with training back home compared to General Lerolan’s warmups. 

“I said,” General Lerolan marches closer to him, one eye squinting as the other nearly bulges out of his skull with anger, “ _ do you call that a sprint?! _ ” His hand tightens around the baton in warning. When he claimed he was going to push Maven beyond his limits, he wasn’t joking.

Wiping his forehead, Maven shakes his head reluctantly. It’s bad enough all of the other soldiers watched his legs give out underneath him and faceplant in the dirt multiple times, it’s even worse now that they’re looking on as he’s being humiliated. “No.”

“No what?”

Although his throat burns, the prince raises his voice to a hoarse yell. “No, sir!” 

Another signature smug smile splits the general’s face, as if he knows he’s breaking him. “That’s right, soldier. Three more laps.” With an internal groan, Maven picks up his feet and begins to sprint again around the training grounds. However, he’s stopped before he can get far. “Around the entire camp.” A few Silver soldiers nearest him, ones who snickered at his failures earlier, give him expressions of sympathy with their lips pressed tightly together and eyes darting from his. 

“Sir?” He wishes he misheard. More than anything, he wishes he failed his mother and didn’t pay close enough attention. His heart drops when General Lerolan swings his hand, motioning for Maven to run in the direction of the opposite end of camp. 

“You heard me, Blue. Three laps around the entire camp. Do it before dinner and you can have seconds.” Maven wants to smack the cruel smirk off of his face but he knows he doesn’t have the strength to do it. 

Every inch of the blue-eyed prince wants to rebel, even the parts he can’t feel due to exhaustion.  _ Physical rebellion is not the only way. _ Maven draws in a shaky breath and stands up straight. “Five.” The slight drop in the corners of the general’s mouth gives Maven the energy to continue. “Five laps before dinner and I get a third helping, and no training for me tomorrow.” It’s a wager Maven will have trouble winning but he has no intention to lose. The few soldiers nearest look between the prince and the general, eyes wide and curious to how the short man will respond.

A heartbeat passes. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Blue.”

“And,” Maven adds quickly, “you can’t call me Blue anymore.” How he despises that nickname. Sure, his eyes may be incredibly blue but it’s unnecessary and childish.  _ He wants to get to you. It’s working, Maven. _ He shakes the whispers away.

Now, the general isn’t happy. “Don’t push your luck. Six laps for the nickname to go away.” With a guffaw, he slaps his knee. “Hell, I’ll even call you “your highness” if you can run six laps before dinner.”

It’s Maven’s turn to smile. “Deal.” 

After one lap, Maven feels like his lungs are going to burst. His legs tremble violently and threaten to give out. Already, the sun is starting to set, signaling it’s an hour or so after noon. Five more hours until dinner. The first lap took a little over an hour, setting him back around ten minutes each lap. At this rate, he’ll be an hour late for dinner and likely receive nothing at all.  _ Then it’s back to training again tomorrow morning. _ He feels a pang of something deep within him. A growing ball of nerves sends signals out to his body, ordering it to shake, tremble, and jolt as his breathing grows rapid and short. He’s not sure what’s happening but he knows he cannot let it take over.

He collapses halfway through the second lap, his legs too weak to continue. With the brutal workouts all morning and the lack of food and water after a breakfast of eggs and toast, which Maven didn’t feel like eating most of, his body can’t handle any more activity. He’s breathing hard and fast, too hard and too fast. He’s wheezing, breaths coming too rapidly for him to handle. His new uniform already looks like the others, soaked in his own bodily fluids and stinking so terribly, Maven wants to cry at how dirty he’s become.

“Keep going.” He mumbles to himself between pants, struggling to stand. “Keep going.”  _ You can’t let him win. _

“Keep going.” Maven stumbles to his feet, blinking wildly and realizing he probably looks like a delirious fool right now.

“Keep going.” Putting one foot in front of the other, he starts at a walk, then at a faster pace until he’s running.

“Keep going.” His heart pounds against his chest and his muscles quiver.

_ You’re doing it. Keep going. You’re almost halfway there. _

That’s when he trips over his own feet and falls on his face in the dirt, skidding on his hands and knees until flesh is scraped off of them. The panic within him rises once more and it’s even more difficult to breathe as he lays in the dirt outside of the lower Red’s tents just before the training grounds. He almost made it two full laps. 

What a joke.

“Are you okay?” A meek voice disrupts his anxiety attack. He manages to lift his face from the ground to see a short, plump blonde girl in a Red soldier’s uniform. It’s not as dirty as he currently is but through his haze, he honestly doesn’t care if this Red’s cleaner. 

A choked gasp escapes his lips and he coughs into the dirt, swallowing deep breaths of air through his mouth. He means to make the girl go away, snap at her for even talking to him. He’s got a challenge to win and he can’t waste any more time lying down and panicking. But his arms don’t work. They feel like limp noodles and refuse to lift him fully off the ground. His legs won’t budge either. Instead of sounding regal and in power, he sounds like a dying fish scrambling for water. It sends the wrong message.

Suddenly, the girl is next to him, shakily helping him off the ground. She touches his arms gently, as if she’s afraid to make contact with him any further.  _ She knows what I am. She’s smart enough to be careful but not smart enough to keep her distance.  _

“You’re going to be okay. You’ve got to help me though.” She says as she attempts to pull him to his feet. He wants to yell at her, scold her. But he’s too tired and too anxious to care. With the two of them struggling, they make it back to her tent where he collapses on the ground with a grunt. The girl is lucky General Lerolan decided not to stick around and watch the prince suffer, otherwise she’d be beaten and he’d have to continue his laps.

The girl hurries to the tent flap. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.” Then she leaves him alone without any remembrance on how to breathe correctly.  _ As if I’m going anywhere. _ He thinks to himself as he tries to balance his breaths. Minutes that feel like hours pass by before Blondie is back. She carries a tin filled with water and a slice of bread, which he devours greedily once she gives it to him. “Slow down, you don’t want to choke.” He takes the water from her next and gulps it down, slower after she reminds him again.

He feels more refreshed after nourishment but his panic stays, twisting and twirling in his gut, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Catching his breath, he realizes he’s able to see more clearly. Instead of the fuzzy form she once was, Blondie’s face becomes clearer and he sees she has a dull shade of blue surrounding her pupils, more grey than his own. Blonde hair that’s nearly white curls around her round face, framing it nicely in a rugged sort of look. Freckles dot her entire face and travel down her neck and shoulders, likely covering most of her skin in places covered by clothes as well. Healing scars streak through them, like lines connecting dots in the stars. They cover her wrists and most of her arms as well, leaving Maven to wonder how rough she truly has it. A smile would pin her as a beauty except a timid, quivering line is in its place like she’s frightened by simply sitting here with him.

“Why-” he erupts into a coughing fit, his throat too parched to continue. She jumps to her feet and hurries out the door again, saying she’ll be back with more water. Her flushed face reveals her nervous state. As much as he hates to admit it, he can’t be  _ that _ scary, can he? He is Silver and she is Red but with him in a state such as this, there’s no Red on Earth who wouldn’t take advantage of the situation.

Blondie comes back to the tent, this trip having taken ten minutes longer than the last, and sports an ugly purple bruise on her forehead. It’s beginning to swell and she looks like she’s in pain, but says nothing of it. “Here, drink. I added some honey to it to soothe your throat.”

When she brings the tin to his lips, he brushes her hand away weakly, shaking his head. He’s had time to catch his breath and go through another anxiety attack before she returned. The panic has retreated for the time being and he’s feeling his strength return slowly. “Why?” He utters.

Blondie backs away after his refusal of the drink like he just hit her. Lowering her head, she sets the tin down and begins to pick at her fingernails, a habit Maven hopes he never acquires. “You were tired.” Her voice is barely above a whisper and it trembles slightly. 

“Of course I was.” He snaps, feeling irritable. His voice sounds better but he still struggles to form sentences. “I was nearly worked to death. I’m exhausted.” She flinches and nods without another word. He leans his head back on her mattress behind him, sighing. “Thank you.” He can almost hear his mother scolding him, lecturing him on the fact Silvers must never thank Reds since it’s their job to serve their betters. But Blondie’s timid yet selfless actions amaze Maven, enough to coax those two words out of him.

Apparently, she wasn’t expecting that either. Pale blue eyes flit to ice blue, searching for sarcasm or a hidden meaning. She relaxes when she finds neither. 

He finds it odd. This Red girl is eighteen or older, since the minimum age requirement for conscription is eighteen, and yet she’s terrified of him, a twelve year old Silver who hasn’t mastered his abilities beyond a simple flame. He notes her eyes flickering to his flame-maker bracelets from time to time and assumes she thinks he’s as powerful as the rest of the Silver soldiers. That simple assumption should make him feel invincible, with unlimited power over her and all the Reds who think alike. But it just makes him pity her, a surprising emotion for a prince raised under Elara Merandus’ rules. 

“That bruise. Did you receive it for taking water?” 

She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. She continues to pick at her fingernails. The scene is infuriating to watch.

“I asked you a question.”

Maven can almost see the panic rising within her, bubbling to the surface in fear of what might happen if she doesn’t answer. This time, she responds quickly. “Yes. But not for the water. For the honey. Reds aren’t allowed treats like that.” She swallows thickly. 

“They let you go?” Usually, guards are trained to cut off a finger or a toe at the least for stolen items. 

She shakes her head, hair swinging gently across her face. “I said it was for a Silver I was serving. A prince. They didn’t question any further.”

His first instinct is to ask how she knew he’s the prince. Obviously, he’s Silver, but nowhere does it say on his being that he’s royalty, except for the bracelets indicating he’s a burner, though he wouldn’t expect a lowly Red such as her to understand the status of Silver houses.

Seeing his expression, which he fails to mask, she stutters briefly. “I-I’m sorry, I know I lied. But I still got a punishment and I got you honey. Please don’t..” she trails off, avoiding his eyes as though he’s supposed to understand what she means. She doesn’t know he’s the prince. For some reason, Maven doesn’t feel obligated to tell her. Instead, he nods slowly, as if processing the information.

He studies her carefully, starting with her fear-filled eyes and ending with her fingers still picking at one another. She shakes underneath his gaze and suddenly, the reality of the situation is so sudden and so obvious, it takes him a moment to grasp. She’s not scared of him because of his abilities. She’s scared of him because he’s male and he’s Silver, both qualities leading to one outcome: he can take what he wants. The cuts on her wrists and neck make sense. As does her refusal to touch him outside of helping him inside her tent. Her trembling body and fearful gaze. 

She thinks he’s going to sexually assault her. As others have probably done to her in the past.

For once, he’s honestly not sure how to respond. The thought offends him greatly. He’s twelve, has hardly started puberty yet; he doesn’t have time to think about things like that. Besides, if he were to want to, he’d want his first time to be with someone special. His mother always thought that was stupid, a foolish wish for a foolish child.  _ No one loves one another like that, Maven. That’s the type of love you read about in fairytales and your fantasy books. Reality is diminishing and cruel. _

“I’m not that type of person.” Maven says, choosing his words carefully. “And you didn’t do anything wrong.” He admits. Blondie relaxes again, watching him carefully. He shifts, groaning as his muscles scream in pain. “I’ll take that water now, though. Honey sounds good.”

She hands him the tin, less timidly this time. He drinks deeply from it and only has less than a quarter of it left when he notices her staring at him. Her eyes reflect want and need. Holding out the tin to her, he sniffs like he could care less. “I’m finished. Drink the rest.” She stares at him some more, her eyes widening. He shakes the cup enough for the mixture inside to slosh around. “Take it before I change my mind.” Wrapping her hands around the cup, Blondie nods her head in thanks and takes a sip.

“I’m Maven.” He says. Why he’s conversing with a Red soldier in her tent is beyond him, but the hospitality is too good to pass up. Much better than lying in the dirt outside, stinking and miserable.

Blondie looks up from the cup, the lack of a smile intriguing him to what she looks like with one. “I’m Gretchen. But my friends call me GG.”

Gretchen helps Maven to his own tent later that evening when everyone is busy eating in the mess halls, including the general and most of the guards. It’s easy for them to sneak around the few patrols and soon Maven is resting in his own tent. He had offered to help with her injury, now a devastating green and blue but she declined politely, saying she had a medic friend who could treat it for her. “He’s Red, but he’s talented. I’ll be okay.”

“Gretchen,” he stops her before she goes, careful not to grab her arm in fear of scaring her, “I appreciate it.” He can’t find it in himself to say any more but she seems to understand. 

“Call me GG.” The words echo in his head long after she leaves to her own tent, protected by the darkness now setting over the camp.

Unfortunately, he realizes he won’t be receiving dinner tonight and it’ll be back to training tomorrow morning. He’ll endure not only his muscles being too stiff to move but the embarrassing comments from General Lerolan in front of his fellow soldiers. However, his encounter with GG and the little time they spent together makes him forget about his rumbling stomach and aching body. He doesn’t come to the conclusion until he’s half-asleep, still stinking and wet from his own sweat, but it causes the corner of his mouth to quirk upwards.

Maven Calore has a friend.


	3. Thomas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maven’s second day at the front isn’t going so well. Not with a Red medic making his life a complete and utter hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The chapter you’ve been waiting for! You’ll be introduced to a new character, a Red medic who’s too hot for Maven’s liking lmao
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Again, criticism is always welcome and appreciated :)

A Red servant entering the Silver dining hall catches the attention of many soldiers, including the guards patrolling near the tent’s entrance flap. The nearest one seizes the boy, grasping his arm tightly while the Red cries out in pain, trying to explain.

Maven sits in the far corner, closest to the entrance.  _ Always have a way out, don’t let yourself get cornered. _ Surprisingly, it was Cal who taught him that, not his mother. The incident is happening rather close to where he’s eating and he grimaces when the guard threatens to rip the servant’s arm off if he doesn’t go back to his own mess hall immediately. If it must be done, why so close to his eggs and bacon?

“I-I have a message.” The Red says quickly, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a slip of paper. “From the general.” Searching wildly, the servant scans the room until his eyes fall on Maven and he points, almost accusingly. “For him.” Maven glances up at the scene, fork in his mouth, completely unaware for the first few moments what just happened.

Dropping the servant’s arm, the guard snatches the note from him and reads it. Maven furrows his eyebrows. If it’s supposedly for him, why should this idiotic guard get to see it first? Suddenly, the guard chuckles, his large body bouncing to the rhythm of his laughs, and he shakes his head. “Get outta here, Red. I’ll give it to him alright.” The servant, looking grateful, leaves briskly.

“Oi, princeling,” still chuckling like he was told a good joke, the guard struts over and drops the paper in front of Maven, “General wants to see ya.” With a start, Maven realizes the guard is the second guard that flanked him during the general’s lecture, the one who laughed when he was humiliated. No wonder he finds the situation so funny.

Eyeing the guard, Maven opens the note and reads, careful to linger on each and every word in case the guard is fucking with him.

**_Blue. Office. Now. I have a friend waiting who really wants to see ya._ **

General Lerolan’s scrawls are difficult to read but not impossible. He certainly doesn’t waste any time either. But the last part punctures a hole in his lung and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. A friend who really wants to see him. No matter how much he refuses to, all he can see in his mind is GG sitting in General Lerolan’s quarters, waiting for him to arrive so she can receive her punishment for interfering with his.

Carefully, the prince stands, ignoring the steaming meal on his plate. He doesn’t say a word to the guard, just a nod, and leaves the dining hall. Once he’s exited, he rushes as fast as he can to the general’s quarters. Without knowing why, his heart begins to race and the panic residing in his gut starts to swirl and prowl, waiting to strike. 

How can a simple Red girl make him feel this way?  _ Because she’s your friend. _ His thoughts are beginning to merge with his mother’s, creating a frustrating game of “Who said that” in his head. However, this one appears to be his own.

He’s so lost in thoughts of excuses to make when he arrives and sees GG with the general that he fails to brace for impact when he rounds a corner. A grunt comes from both of them as they collide. Maven feels a sharp pain and hears a crack that can’t lead to anything good as an elbow rams into his nose. Instantly, Silver spurts out of his nostrils and treks down his face, dribbling off of his chin. He stumbles back, as does his attacker. 

“Holy crap, I am so sorry.” 

Maven looks up and blinks hazily, peering at the person in front of him. A Red.  _ Not a person, darling. _ Although Elara isn’t in his head at the moment, he still hears echoes of her words. The Red isn’t anything special. At most, he’s fourteen, and a few inches taller than Maven. A medic bag slings over his shoulder, covering little more than his sweaty tank top does, revealing a skinny brown body with a hint of growing muscle beneath the skin. Forest green eyes capture Maven’s attention, wide and worried, reflecting fear. He’s handsome, to say the least, with a nice jawline and full lips, but what Maven takes out of all the three seconds he’s staring is this: he wants to touch this guy’s hair. Chocolate brown curls protrude from his scalp, bouncing everytime the Red moves, like it’s begging the prince to run his fingers through it.

With a flush, Maven comes to his senses. Nice jawline? Full lips? Wanting, no, needing to touch that hair? Such impure thoughts for a royal prince.

A wave of pain crashes down on him and he inhales sharply, bringing a hand to his nose to feel the damage. The touch nauseates him so he lets his hand hover below to his chin to catch the droplets of blood.

He’s too busy trying to replay what happened, he forgot to say something. At least let the Red know he’ll die for such actions. The Red speaks again, indistinctly, and Maven looks at him in confusion.

“You’re bleeding. Fudge, you’re bleeding. Does it hurt? Do you need a medic? I’ll get a medic.” The Red scrambles around in one place, desperately trying to make things better. Maven, despite his pain, stares at the guy in disbelief. Not only does he ask stupid questions, he’s looking for a medic while he has a medical bag on his shoulder. Never has he come across anyone more oblivious than this Red.

“Thomas, you’re a medic.” A voice sounds from behind the Red, Thomas. In an instant, all of Maven’s fears dissolve. GG steps closer, cautiously, fiddling with her fingers and looking at the scene with worry. “Don’t just stand there, do something.” She hisses, turning into someone new entirely around Thomas. She motions to the guards roaming camp, suggesting it’s not a good idea to leave a bleeding Silver with two unharmed Reds out in the open.

Thomas glances at his bag. “Oh, yeah. Right.” A few beats pass before he turns to GG. No words are spoken but Maven sees the silent conversation happen between them. It’s a lot similar to his own conversations with his mother. 

Thomas gives a slight nod in Maven’s direction, widening his eyes a bit and pressing his lips together.  _ Translation: “He’s Silver. He’s bleeding. He’ll have us killed.” _

GG frowns, gestures to the guards with a frustrated look, then her eyes flit to Maven with a reassuring one.  _ “They’ll kill us first. Besides, I know him. He won’t kill us.” _

_ “How can you know that?” _

_ “I just do.” _

_ “GG…” _

_ “Just trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing.” _

Feeling more like an object being spoken about than a person, Maven finally says something, his voice sounding odd from the strain on his nose. But instead of proclaiming punishment or snapping at them, he says, “You guys aren’t very subtle, you know.” Both Reds turn to him, look at each other, then back at him. GG is the first to step forward.

“We can get that healed. Thomas is a great medic, he can help.”

With a scoff, Maven looks Thomas up and down. “He’s your “talented medic”? The one you talked about last night? The one who forgot he was a goddamn medic in the first place?” His own voice catches him off guard, full of authority and hurtful words.  _ Like General Lerolan. _ His nausea worsens.

Thomas stares at Maven guiltily. “I promise I’m better than I look. A lot of people tell me that.” 

GG sighs. A few guards are getting closer so she pulls both of them into the closest place not crawling with patrols, an ammunition depot; a large shed on the outskirts of camp, just past the general’s quarters. She isn’t as shy or weary as she was previously. In fact, she doesn’t seem to have a problem manhandling both Thomas and Maven, rushing them and bringing them into the shed. The door closes with a solid thunk, unlike the measly flaps on the tents. 

“We can’t be in here.” Maven states the obvious. He cannot believe what today has brought. First, this Thomas guy breaks his nose, makes him think sinful thoughts, and is so blindly stupid, he resembles Cal in a way that makes Maven sick. Then, GG ends up not being in danger after all and is helping him with his injury, but is nothing like the girl she was when she helped him. Even the bruise on her forehead is gone. It’s as if the previous night never happened. Finally, he’s in the last place he should be, especially since he’s on the bad side of the general already: a shed full of the camp’s ammunition. 

Thomas gazes around at thousands of crates and weapons stacked around the three of them, whistling. “That’s a lot of ammo.” 

“Thomas. Bag.” GG says, tugging at the medic supply kit hanging off of him.

He seems to remember Maven’s nose and hurries to unzip it. “Right, sorry. I got distracted.” When he pulls out a few bandages and stitches, Maven can’t help but laugh. Thomas and GG look confused. “What?”

Eyes flitting between them, Maven’s laugh dies. “You’re kidding, right?” Neither of them move a muscle, giving no indication they’re joking. “You’ve got an actual medic in this camp. It should be required. We are at war, after all.” Again, he isn’t given a response. “Are you seriously going to slap a bandage on my nose and call it good? I thought you said he was talented.” He directs that last sentence at GG who nods.

“He is talented. But we can’t get a healer. They’ll want to know what happened.” As soon as she says it, Thomas elbows her, glaring. She lowers her eyes. “Which we’re hoping you don’t intend to tell the truth about.” Her newfound boldness is admirable to say the least but Maven’s not sure he likes this version of her. She makes him feel small and not at all as powerful as he had felt yesterday. His flame-maker bracelets have gone unnoticed today, not even Thomas has brought attention to them.

Maven presses his lips into a line. Now his nose is starting to throb and he’s not happy with the amount of blood that’s pooling into the center of his palm. “Why shouldn’t I?” That gets their attention. Standing straighter with narrowed eyes, he glowers at them accusingly. “Tommy here isn’t qualified enough for my taste. Bring me to an actual healer and I’ll make sure your heads stay attached to your necks.”

Thomas pales a little, his golden skin turning two shades lighter with a sickly tone to it.  _ What a weakling. _ GG watches Maven carefully, eyes searching him for any hint of trickery. 

“I’m a man of my word.”

Nodding slowly, GG exhales sharply. “Okay. We’ll bring you to the medical tent. I think Terria is on the job.” She puts the supplies back into the bag and zips it up, handing it over to Thomas who takes it.

On the contrary, Thomas’s skeptical. “ _ Will _ you lie?” His voice quivers gently. “I’m really sorry for hurting you, I didn’t mean it. I don’t mean any offense here, but how can we trust you?”

“GG trusts me. Is that not enough for you?” His hesitation is enough. “I may be Silver but I’m not an asshole. It was a mistake.”  _ Mother would punish me greatly for what I just said. _ Maven thinks then pushes aside the next wave of nausea. “Can you just take me to see Terria? I’m feeling dizzy.” In spite of all of his lessons, he can’t find it in himself to act like his mother or be as regal as his father or brother. He’s done so many things wrong and it’s not even noon on his second day at the barracks. He can’t even fulfill simple orders such as meeting the general in his quarters, which Maven will have to explain after his nose is healed. 

Perhaps sending him to the front without Elara’s guidance was a bad idea. Now Maven desperately needs to find a toilet.

Thomas’s green eyes fix on Maven’s blue, staring deep into his soul it seems. The prince is sure he looks awful; hair sticking out in weird directions from his restless sleep, a giant grey bruise forming on his face that’s slowly swelling and puffing up his features. But Thomas says nothing about his appearance. After an awkward minute, the medic agrees. “Yeah.” Maven’s even sure he hears a quiet thank you on the way out of the ammunition depot.


	4. Who’s This?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor comes to see Maven. It gets awkward..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this chapter feeling good about it and then I felt I rushed it? I don’t know, it feels off to me but I can’t tell if it’s my wording or the order of events. Anywho, here’s the next chapter! I hope y’all enjoy!
> 
> Criticism always welcomed and encouraged. I also love reading all of your nice comments, they always keep me motivated 😊

“Broken?” Thomas repeats quietly, gathering the nerve to meet a cold pair of blue eyes. He averts his attention to his feet where it remains. 

Terria, the Silver Skonos healer, nods, the movement hardly visible. A thin line replaces her mouth and tight features add to her physical age. Her graying hair is tied up into a knot, frizzing out at the edges as she’s too busy to fix it. A Silver medic badge accompanies Skonos house colors on her uniform. If Maven squints, he can almost perceive Sara, Julian Jacos’s unspoken lover.

“How was this injury acquired?” Terria asks. Such a sharp tongue for a frail figure. Thomas and GG share a look. GG’s standing closer to the medic tent flap, arms crossed and feet planted together in a mix of timid and defiant. Thomas’s closer to Maven, his damned hair distracting the prince, bouncing everytime the Red turns his head. Both are watching Maven carefully now, eyeing him outside of Terria’s view.

Slipping his mask on as he was taught, he musters the best nonchalant look he can. “General Lerolan doesn’t seem to realize the intensity of his punishments.” Terria’s eyes flit to his. He shrugs. “I fell down during a drill I earned through his arrogance. Need I say more?” He scowls now, staring back at Terria until she turns her attention to his nose, one hand reaching up to touch it with great care. 

Out of the corner of Maven’s eye, Thomas awards him with a soft smile, one that causes Maven’s cheeks to burn.

“Am I hurting you?” Terria arches an eyebrow, swiping a hand gently across his cheeks to check for any minor bruising. “Or is it the heat?” The prince is about to swat her hand away and call her a fool. Not only are his innards turning into fluttering butterflies to fuel his embarrassment and her question causing everything to be worse, she should know better than anyone his cheeks don’t flush from heat. However, Terria has a sparkle in her eyes when she’s finished with his nose.

_ Oh. _

“All better.” Tight features return along with a dutiful stance. “I made sure to ease your pain in other places as well, I hope that’s alright. Your muscles have had quite the workout lately.” Maven moves his arms, testing out the newfound strength. For the first time since he’s arrived here, he feels rejoiced and energized enough to withstand four of General Lerolan’s hardcore training sessions. 

**_I have a friend waiting who really wants to see ya_ ** _.  _

That’s right. 

Counting out the math in his head, Maven stands from the cot. It’s been at least a half hour since his run in with Thomas and GG, so he got the letter from the general around forty-five minutes ago. He’s already in for a greeting of glares and unnecessary yelling. Unfortunately, whoever’s here to see him will experience it as well.

Stopping himself before he thanks Terria, he simply gives her a nod. “I feel great. But I must be going.” His mother has reminded him various times: workers should not be thanked by a prince, not even healers, because it is their job to heal. Why give gratitude to a person simply doing their job? Terria bows her head in a formal way, too formal for Maven’s liking, especially when Thomas and GG are standing not even five feet away.

Maven turns to leave for the general’s quarters and nearly faceplants into Thomas for the second time today. Thomas, being two inches taller, looks down at Maven with the same soft smile as before, as if teasing him. 

“You’re in my way.” The prince means for his voice to sound regal. Much to his dismay, the words are hushed into a whisper, making the situation more awkward than it already is. Thomas opens his mouth, probably to say something witty now that Maven’s apparently his friend, then stops himself as he sees Terria still standing next to the cot with her hands on her hips and an eyebrow arched. The Red clears his throat, apologizing under his breath, and moves out of the way. GG fights a smile.

Just as Maven gets around the corner, he hears Terria’s sharp tongue return along with strict orders to Thomas, whom she calls “boy”, and the footsteps of soldier boots scurrying away from the medic tent.

* * *

  
  


“Blue.” General Lerolan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and chuckling humorlessly. “Blue, Blue, Blue.”

_ I’ve been here for five minutes and the only thing he’s said is Blue. Someone kill me now. _ Maven’s almost entirely sure that atrocious thought will be plucked from the depths of his mind sooner or later. His mother could possibly get a good laugh out of it though he doesn’t dare form that into a full thought. Instead, it dissipates, leaving him to wonder what he was even thinking about. It’s the way he gets rid of all things Elara shouldn’t have knowledge of. Unfortunately, it’s incredibly difficult and gives him headaches and memory issues.

Standing up to his full height, which isn’t even two inches over Maven, General Lerolan struts over to him, still shaking his head. “I sent you a note, didn’t I? Did you receive it or not?”

“I did.” Maven’s given a cold, hard glare. “I did,  _ sir _ .” 

Satisfied, the general dips his head. “When I send you a note, soldier, you obey the words written on it.” Every word uttered is spoken infuriatingly slow, as if Maven’s a child in a classroom working on his alphabet. “Am I clear?” 

“Crystal, sir.” 

“Really? Because, last time I checked, you made me wait forty-five goddamn minutes for your presence and you’re not even presentable.” His voice gets louder with every word. Maven struggles to keep his composure instead of checking to make sure his ears aren’t bleeding. “Where’s your full uniform? I don’t see a jacket next time I see you, I’ll staple it on you permanently!” Jabbing a finger into Maven’s chest, he snarls. “You’re lucky your visitor is behind that flap, otherwise I’d really let you have it.” 

Maven can’t help but think,  _ What were you doing before? _ “Apologies, general. I ran into some trouble and broke my nose. Te- a Skonos healer had to--”

“ _ Do I look like I give a shit _ ?” 

Maven swallows, not out of fear but out of frustration. “No, sir.” He lifts his chin and keeps his eyes straightforward as he was taught in training.

“I’m going to let you have some time with your visitor, but afterwards you owe me some laps.” Suddenly, Maven feels as though he has been shot in the gut. “You completed two if my source is correct. You owe me four more before you can eat again. And this time, no help from any Red rats.” Maven pales. So he does know about GG. 

But who’s his source?

“Do you understand, Blue?”

Watching himself so he doesn’t quiver, Maven nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get outta here. He’s waiting for you.” Waving a hand towards the tent flap leading to a connected tent, General Lerolan retreats to his desk where a pile of papers sits, waiting to be viewed. Maven doesn’t feel the least bit sorry for him.

Feeling more like a kicked dog than anything, Maven sulkily leaves the general’s quarters and enters the joined tent. It’s a smaller one yet it still manages to fit a couch, chairs, and even a table in the center, all made of wood with cushions and cloths to soften them. A glass of wine sits untouched in the center of the table and a person sits on the couch facing away from Maven, the back of his head giving the prince everything he needs to know about his visitor.

“Cal.”

The elder Calore prince turns to face his brother, a bright smile lighting his face. “Mave.” Looking him up and down, Cal nods. “You look good. Strong.”

A muscle twitches in the corner of Maven’s mouth. “I’ve been here two days. I saw you less than a week ago. What are you doing here?” Cal’s smile drops slightly, his posture stooping just a bit. Maven can’t help but feel bad. 

“I figured it’d be nice to see a familiar face. At least, that’s what I desired most when I was up here. Besides, General Lerolan can be a lot...I’m sure you already know.” Cal gestures sheepishly to the tent flap, suggesting he heard more than he should’ve.

Huffing, Maven moves closer to the furniture arrangement, arms crossed. “He won’t stop calling me Blue.” Although he sounds childish, like a kid crying to his mother over a broken toy, it makes him feel more at home. Cal’s always been the one he can say these things to. Elara simply wouldn’t have it.

Cal’s famous crooked smile returns and he cracks a laugh. “Wouldn’t expect any less from him. He actually misheard my name when I told him to call me Cal.” He sighs. “He never did stop calling me Kale.” Maven snorts, letting himself open up a bit. Around Cal, it’s a lot easier to be himself, not his mother’s or anyone else’s creation. It causes an ache deep in his heart.

“How’re things at home?” Maven asks after a moment of silence, shifting in his place near one of the chairs.

Cal shrugs. His expression gives away more than he intends to. “Normal.”

“So...nothing’s changed.” Maven expected this, though he doesn’t want to admit it scars more than just his pride. “Figures.”

His brother’s eyes widen. “No, that’s not what I meant. Nothing new has happened. Other than I don’t feel so dumb during lessons anymore.” He offers Maven a smile who gives a faint one back. There’s an incredibly awkward silence that fills the tent afterwards, only fueling the tension. 

Cal coughs. He gestures to the seat across him. Maven sits. 

“Anyways, how’s training going? Any better than the kind back at home?”

_ How can someone be this frustratingly awkward? _ “It’s more physical than ability training. A bit more difficult but I can manage.”

“Ah.” Cal fiddles with his fingers, face as easy to read as a picture book. He’s searching for something, anything, to talk about.  _ Why did you come to visit if all you wanted to do was say hi? Send me a letter, moron. Maybe I’ll even take the time of day to read it. _

Maven’s about to suggest he finish his laps before sundown tonight, indicating he’d rather be anywhere but here, when Cal opens his mouth again. “Have you made any friends?”

Images of GG and Thomas flash through his head. “What am I, four? I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to get stronger. Or in father’s words, be more like you.” The sentence slices like a knife. 

Cal frowns. “I just figured this would be the place for that. A lot of close friends of mine met me up here. And it’d be nice to hear you have some people to talk to here. War can get lonely, but it can also do things to your head. Friends can be of use during those times, don’t you think?”

He’s right, Maven hates to admit that. The younger prince knows all too well what happens when you’re inside your head for too long. 

Forcing a smile, Maven stands. “Yeah. I’ve met a few people, if that makes you feel better.” He’s clearly ready to leave but Cal acts as if he’d never moved.

Leaning forward, his brother looks at him with a proud look. “Who? Are they nice?” Even at 14, Cal manages to treat him like he’s five. Like he’s somehow as experienced as a parent.

Maven grits his teeth but never drops the smile. “Just a soldier. And a medic. Sure, I guess they’re nice.”

“A medic? Did you get hurt?”

“No.” Maven lies through his teeth. “Just passed him between duties.”

“And the soldier?”

“She’s nice.” Immediately after he says it, he wishes he could take it back.

“She?”

Scowling, Maven rolls his eyes. “Can I not make friends with a girl without being interested?”

Cal holds up his hands in defense and shakes his head. “No, no. I didn’t say that. Just curious.” But a knowing smile stays on his face, long enough where Maven flushes.

“It’s not like that. Never going to happen. She’s just a friend.” A tiny voice in the back of his head speaks up.  _ GG might just be a friend. What about- _ Maven tells himself to shut up. There’s no way. 

“Alright, alright.” Cal leans back against the couch, arms crossed. Looking like a true king, as always. “Had to make sure.”

Growing increasingly irritated, Maven begins to leave, inching towards the exit flap. “Thanks for visiting, brother, but please don’t show up unexpectedly unless it’s an emergency. I can handle myself.” He cuts Cal off before he can say anything. “I’ve got some laps to finish. Tell mother hello for me.”

“Mave-” Maven leaves the tent before Cal finishes getting up. 

The exit spits him out at the start of the array of tents, leaving him a long way to go before he reaches the training grounds. Perhaps he should jog there and get half of his third lap knocked out. He’s mentally preparing himself for the exhaustion he’s about to endure yet again when he rounds the corner of a tent and runs into something solid.

“Woah, we’ve got to stop running into each other like this.” 

One upwards glance and Maven’s stomach flutters. Curly, fluffy hair, green eyes, beautiful golden skin, and a smile the sun itself envies. It’s official, Maven hates Thomas.

Standing upright, Maven sniffs. “Or you could be more careful of where you stand.” The comeback is weak but, in all honesty, he can’t think straight right now.

“Wait! Mave, I need to-” 

Everything seems to move in slow motion. Cal jogs around the corner, eyes training in on Maven then moving to Thomas. Thomas opens his mouth to say something then closes it once he sees Cal, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. Unlike Maven, Cal is very well known around the barracks. 

It must’ve just occurred to Thomas that his future king’s running towards them because he takes a weary step back and fights to keep his stature. He nearly drops the roll of bandages he was busy rolling up. “That’s…” 

“Yeah.” Is all Maven can think to say.

Cal stops next to Maven. “I needed to give you something. It’s rude to walk out on people, you know.” He looks to Thomas who pales. For some reason, Maven’s heart thunders in his chest, as if Thomas were a secret he’d been caught with. “Who’s this?”

**Author's Note:**

> I know Thomas isn’t in this chapter and he isn’t even mentioned yet, but he will be. I want to write the whole story of Maven at the front and unfortunately that means there will be chapters like this which set things up. There are also going to be some chapters in Thomas’ POV and possibly some in my OC’s point of view :)


End file.
